Super bust
Colts vs. Bears lulled me to sleep

Justin Veiga | managing editor
jveiga@smcvt.edu

It was supposed to be an intense battle: the explosive offense of the Indianapolis Colts trying to overcome the suffocating Chicago Bears defense. Peyton Manning versus Brian Urlacher. Precision facing off against pure grit. In the end, the consistency of Manning’s arm was too much for the Bears to handle and when all was said and done, the Colts finished on top of the 29-17 margin.

It will certainly be a game long remembered by football fans, as Tony Dungy became the first African-American head coach to win a Super Bowl, Manning nabbed his first ring, and the American Football Conference (AFC) captured the Vince Lombardi Trophy for the fifth time in the last six years.

But despite all of the accolades from last Sunday night, it just didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t believe I was watching a Super Bowl caliber contest.

Could I have possibly been the only one watching who couldn’t stop thinking, “Wow, is this game dull or what!?" I’ve had a better time watching my grandmother eat a sandwich.

Sure things got started with a bang at Dolphin Stadium in Miami, Fla. Rookie sensation Devin Hester ran the opening kick back 92 yards, quickly giving the Bears a seven-point lead. But as the rain picked up, the excitement fizzled out, leaving fans and the millions of TV viewers with 59 minutes and 46 seconds of blah.

Maybe I should blame the nasty weather for putting such a damper on the usually adrenaline-packed spirit associated with the Super Bowl. Maybe it was the mud and muck that took a toll on the game’s intensity. Certainly the soft turf and slippery pigskin were in part responsible for the eight total turnovers (five of which came in the form of a fumble), disabling the chances for either team to establish any sort of flow or rhythm. Maybe a Super Bowl not held in a dome-style stadium isn’t such a good idea.

And if the weather couldn’t kill my enjoyment of the game alone, perhaps it was all the hype leading up to that opening kick off. Could it be that two weeks of analysis and discussion about “the biggest game of the year, every year” is just too much? After all, how many times do we need to hear about Manning’s ability to pick apart defenses, Marvin Harrison’s dismal playoff numbers, or the game-controlling talent of Tank Johnson and the Bears' defensive line.

Heck, maybe it wasn’t the game’s fault at all for that just-not-there festiveness. Commercials have become as big a part of the Super Bowl as the players themselves who compete on the international stage. And let’s face it; this year’s ads just didn’t have it. Even the usual hilarity of Budweiser’s marketing geniuses couldn’t induce a laugh or two. Okay, okay, the Bud Light bit with Carlos Mencia and the Fed Ex Ground ad were at least able to crack a smile from nacho-laden lips. But just two commercials out of how many? It was a disappointment to say the least.

Or could it have been Prince that fueled my lackluster mood? Half-time shows never have been able to snag any zest from my football fervor, but come on. It’s the Super Bowl and the best act out there is Prince? Please attempt to call me out on this if you think I’m wrong, but I’m confident that your typical football fan is a rock n’ roll fan as well. So then who’s the brilliant executive that thought Prince -- yeah, “Little Red Corvette” Prince (I dare you to tell me he’s the embodiment of rock) -- would add to the big hit, grunt and groan, head-bashing passion of a Super Bowl? I know one thing for sure; “All Along the Watchtower” will never be the same for me.

I could go on with my demeaning Prince comments, but forget it, who am I kidding? I might as well just come clean. It wasn’t Prince that ruined this year’s Super Bowl for me. It wasn’t the commercials (I usually don’t watch ‘em anyways). It wasn’t the hype either; in fact, I can’t get enough of the hype. With the amount of Sportscenter I watch and the ratings I boost for ESPN, I bet Chris Berman buys a ritzy steak dinner or two every month thanks to me. And although it did make things gloomy, the weather had no ill effect on my game-time mood.

Super Bowl XLI was a bust for one reason and one reason alone:

The Colts won.

What else would you expect from a New Hampshire kid who grew up the son of an avid Boston sports fan. If you’re not a Sox, Celtics, Bruins, or Patriots nut and you’re from New England, you’re not welcome in the Veiga house, even if you are a beautiful 19-23 year-old woman.

I mean come on, what’s a Super Bowl without Brady and Belichick? Certainly not one I care about, that’s for sure. Yeah, we’ve been spoiled in recent years, but so what. We had to wait 86 years for the Sox to win a championship (okay, I only had to wait 18, but still) and things certainly aren’t looking good for the B’s or Celts. So when the Pats aren’t in the big game, my Super Bowl lust dies with the end of New England’s season (thanks Reche Caldwell, by the way). And it rots to the core when I have to watch their conference rivals take the glory that should have been theirs, ours. I gagged a bit in my mouth when Manning hoisted that trophy above his head. Seriously.